


8pm. Don't Be Late

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Black Widow Bingo 2020 [1]
Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Concern, F/F, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Gentleness, Lesbian Natasha Romanov, Suggestive Themes, Teasing, Undercover, soft touches, teammates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: On mission, Natasha breaks protocol to meet the reader in a coffee shop because she misses them.BWB - B1: Coffee ShopLOMB - M4: Soft Touches
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Black Widow Bingo 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906966
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	8pm. Don't Be Late

You smiled at Colleta as you entered, swiftly navigating the other patrons to take your usual seat by the window. The coffee shop had undeniably seen better days but still maintained it charm in the unusual paintings on the wall (curious swirls of rich, earthy colours that were incredibly reminiscent of the more adventurous and flexible sexual positions you’d attempted over the years) and the handmade furniture which dated back decades.

Neatly folding the napkin in half and then half again, you slipped it beneath the wobbly leg then rested your elbows on the now perfectly stable surface. From your bag, you pulled out a notebook and started to sketch the world outside.

Despite months of trying, you were yet to accurately capture the true ambience of the town but you came back every day to try again. It was a sad little place, decimated by war but once again beginning to thrive as young people moved away from the bustling, impersonal cities to settle somewhere calmer, a place with personality and history that they could call home.

Rain trickled down the window pane. Cool drops crept in through the gaps in the sealant and wet the tissues which lined sill, pre-placed in preparation for the predictable autumn weather. Street lamps cast a soft, flickering glow over the concrete street, highlighting the many pot holes and cracks which local officials had been promising to fix for years now.

Almost oblivious to the rain, people floated through the town without haste, wrapped up warm and protected from the shower by bright, colourful umbrellas. Cheerful despite the hardships of everyday life. Among the sea of colour, you caught the splash of black immediately.

Averting your gaze, you were grateful for the welcome distraction as Colleta delivered your drink. She even treated you to a free slice of her infamous beetroot and chill cake – whether it was renowned for good or bad reasons was still up for debate but you thanked her nonetheless. You picked at the corner of the cake, needing to wash the cloying crumbs down with a large mouthful, your pen still scratching against the paper as you tried to capture the scene outside.

The chair behind you scraped against the floor, slow, deliberate, with the sole intention of attracting your attention. It was funny that she thought she had to try; you’d been aware of Agent Romanoff’s exact position from the first moment you’d spotted her outside.

You brought the mug up to your lips and blew softly over the contents. Regardless of her questionable baking skills, Colleta certainly new how to whip up a good drink. Eyes fixed on the outside world, you muttered, “How’s the weather in Barbados?”

“I hear there are chances of snow.” Natasha’s voice was soft, like a song you knew from years ago that warmed your heart, reminded you of simpler times.

Oblivious to the secret code – a necessary precaution since those nanomasks hit the black market and made it annoyingly easy to impersonate anyone – Colleta remarked, “Global warming, eh?”

She disappeared to prepare Natasha’s order and you leant back in your chair, breathing in the delicate scent of her perfume. Sweet, floral, feminine but totally and utterly forgettable. Perfect for a spy. “Any news from home?”

“None.”

“Then why did you want to meet?”

Colleta returned with Natasha’s order, some kind of herbal tea, two sugars if you knew her well enough – and you did – and a safe blueberry muffin. As she turned away, the fork clattered against the floor. The spy waved away her assistance and crouched down to pick it up, her hand purposefully brushing against your leg.

Fingers trailing up your thigh as she stood, lingering a moment too long to be accidental, Natasha straightened up, her gorgeous emerald eyes holding yours with an intensity you didn’t dream of breaking. Her hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze accompanying an insincere apology for the benefit of everyone around you.

Back on her chair, she once again met your gaze in the reflection of the rainy window and said softly, “I was concerned about you, lover.”

As quickly as her emotion showed through the cracks in her carefully crafted mask, her standard expression fell back into place, cool, collected and totally unaffected by your presence. Straight to business, Natasha said, “Bavarik’s men are mobilising. HQ says to hold back but a firefight is imminent.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t be so blasé. This town is on the verge of another war. You need to be more careful.”

“Meaning?”

“I know you were at Kira’s club last night. That place is full of criminals.”

Uncertain whether to be flattered or not that she was apparently keeping tabs on your movements, you pointed out that you’d only been doing your job, following a target. “And so what if I’d gone there of my own volition? Diamond has truly magical hands.”

Natasha’s fingers tightened around the fork, almost imperceptible if not for your exceptionally close attention. Leaning back slightly, your shoulders brushing, you found her free hand and teased her little finger with your own. “Don’t get jealous now, lover. You were the one that told me to keep my distance.”

“It’s better that you are,” she said stiffly. For someone so adept at manipulation and hiding behind a carefully constructed image, Natasha was so easy to read at times. Or perhaps it was only around you. Either way, right now she was hardly living up to the reputation of being a heartless machine. “Stay away from Kira’s, though.”

“Doesn’t matter either way since I’m leaving tomorrow.”

She pulled back, the gap between you stretching further than the largest gulf. “Where to?”

You answered with silence, unable to break your training even for her. Classified still meant something. Regretfully, wishing you could give her more, you said, “I’ll be fine. It’s just a relocation to follow up on my case. It should be nice and sunny, though. You know nothing bad ever happens by the beach.”

Natasha nodded, taking what little you could give her. “When?”

“They wanted me to leave tonight but I insisted on the morning flight.”

You could almost hear her smile as she reached around to find your hand beneath the chair, slowly pulling you back to her. “So, dinner tonight, then.”

Picking at the crumbs of your cake, deciding that this was definitely not one of Colleta’s triumphs, you stared at your incomplete sketch of the street with a fond smile tugging at your lips. “That doesn’t sound like a question.”

“It’s not. Consider it an order.”

“Using your position to solicit an agent on active duty is completely inappropriate behaviour. I could report you to H.R.”

“But then you’d miss out on all the fun things I have planned.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, mind already pondering the possibilities. The last time Natasha ‘invited’ you to dinner, you had spent the night tied to her bed posts and at the mercy of her incredibly varied imagination.

Sensing your pliancy, Natasha said, “Eight pm. I’m at -”

“Poet’s lane. I know.”

Natasha smirked before her a curtain of red hair fell across her face. She took a final sip of her tea, left a hefty tip for Colleta despite barely touching her order, and rose to her feet. Hand gracing across your shoulder, she teased at the loose neckline of your t-shirt before her hand fell to her side.

She tugged on her coat to straighten up and muttered, “Don’t be late.” With that, she threw up her hood and headed back out into the rain, quickly disappearing into the shadows within which she found such comfort. You watched her turn the corner, counting down the moments until you could, at least temporarily, join her there too.


End file.
